


Stop Me If You've Heard This One

by spacetrek



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, When Will My Consistent Writing Style Return From The War, i say as i've never written a consistent thing in my life, idk what this is i'm at work and nobody's shown up so here i am again, unbeta'd as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrek/pseuds/spacetrek
Summary: Post-battle cleanup is hard, even without the unofficial Superman fan clubs.  Not that Superman would ever admit that they're fan clubs at all.





	Stop Me If You've Heard This One

Clark had that look on his face, the one that said he’d be blushing if his body did such things.

 

Bruce eyed the little group at the edge of the barrier Clark had set up.One of the young men saw him watching and ducked, face bright red.“They’re talking about you, aren’t they.”

 

Clark’s fingers twitched.He clearly wanted to fiddle with his cape.“Yeah.Yeah, I think they forgot that I can, you know.Hear them.”

 

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but it felt deliberate.“Are they—" 

“No!”Clark grabbed his cape, reflexive.“God, no.It’s—”He visibly struggled to think of a word other than ‘infatuation’ and eventually settled on“nothing serious.” He finally noticed that he was clutching a handful of fabric hard enough to crack diamond and let it fall at his side.“I’m gonna go talk to them.”

 

“I didn’t know you’d resorted to giving The Talk.”

 

“Next time you wonder why people don’t like to be around you, remember this conversation.”A convenient gust of wind caught Clark’s cape as he turned toward the barrier, sending it billowing over his shoulders and down his legs.Bruce was pretty sure one of the girls had fainted standing up.

 

By the time Clark extricated himself from his little fan club, Bruce was examining damage reports.“How was it.”Bruce’s tone implied that he didn’t really care how it went, which was a lie.He did care, if only because it had the chance to be embarrassing for Clark and therefore funny for him.

 

“Fine.They were very polite; just wanted a few autographs.”

 

Bruce’s mouth wavered.“So not like that time in Tuckahoe.”

 

“I thought we agreed never to mention Tuckahoe.”

 

“You said, ‘let’s never mention this again’ after that woman got through with you—"

 

“Batman—"

 

“—and then you flew off before I could say anything.Even if I had, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

 

“I’m taking Flash next time,”Clark muttered.A breeze, and he was looking over Bruce’s shoulder.“They spelled Carol Martina’s name wrong again.”

 

Bruce looked down the list until he’d caught up with Clark.He spent a moment considering a Ms. Carol Martini, RN, and tilted his head a little.“Hm.”

 

“You would think they’d take a little more care with the names of medical professionals who risk their lives to save others.”

 

“You’d think wrong.It’s amazing how careless people are when they believe they can get away with it.”Bruce folded the list up neatly and secreted it somewhere under his cape.

 

“Doesn’t that belong to the police?”

 

“Yes.”Bruce tucked his hands under his cape and looked at Clark. _And what are you going to do about it?_ was unsaid, but very much implied.

 

Clark just sighed. 

 

“Hey, Superman!”

 

They turned back to the barrier.“Your fan clubs usually leave after you talk to them,”Bruce said.

 

“They’re not fan clubs.And most of them did leave; it’s just that one guy.”

 

“And what would you call them.”

 

“I—"

 

“Superman—whoa!” 

 

Clark darted over just in time to stop a young man in head-to-toe denim from falling over the barrier.Bruce followed at a more reasonable speed, and stood at a more respectable distance.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

The man – boy, really, he couldn’t be older than seventeen – was blushing all the way to the roots of his hair.“Yeah.I tripped, you know; it's just really damn—" he clapped his hands over his mouth, looking remarkably like a thirteen-year-old caught with a racy magazine by his mother.

 

“It’s fine,”Clark said.He was using his most patient voice, the one he only got when someone was really testing just how far that patience went.“Is something wrong?”

 

“No—yes—maybe?”He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.“Look, it’s probably nothing, but some guy dressed like a cowboy ran into that warehouse while you and Bats were talking, and—"

 

“What warehouse.”

 

The boy nearly slammed into Clark jumping away from Batman, who had appeared at Clark’s side like he was the one with superspeed.Clark caught him by the collar, neatly depositing him back on his feet.

 

“Jesus, dude!”Either his hero worship did not extend to Batman, or Bruce had already pushed past his tolerance for dramatics.They were equally likely choices.“I was getting to it.”He pointed, a little shaky.“That one.”

 

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Clark was in the air; a moment after that, metal and wood screeched and snapped as he crashed through the rusted tin roof.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

A sparking, twitching, cowboy-shaped projectile flew through the crumbling warehouse wall and skidded to a stop at their feet.

 

“Holy _shit._ ”

 

“Yeehaw,”Clark said flatly.He dropped to the ground with a muted thump.

 

Bruce prodded the cowboy-bot with the toe of his boot.It made a sad robot noise.“Toyman’s last hurrah.”

 

“Looks like.”Clark pulled the head off the body with no more effort than it would take anyone else to open a soda can and offered it to Bruce with a little bow.“Your blackmail material, sir.”

 

“It’s data, not blackmail.”Bruce took the head anyway, ignoring the still-live wires.

 

“So this has been cool and all, but I’m just gonna—"

 

Clark turned back to the boy.“Oh!”He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.He looked smaller, almost like he hadn’t just smashed through a roof and killed a cowboy-bot.“Yeah, you probably should be going.The rest of the cleanup crew will be here soon.”

 

“I’m not cleanup.”Batman was holding the cowboy-bot by what looked disturbingly like its nerve endings, robot edition.

 

“You are today.”Clark shook his head.“I didn’t get your name?”

 

“Wh—oh, it’s, uh, it’s Dan.”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“Manners, B.”Clark smiled brightly.“Nice to meet you, Dan.Thanks for the help.”

 

Dan looked slightly shellshocked.In his defense, he’d gone through most of the human emotional spectrum in about three minutes.“Yeah.No problem.”He took a step back, then another.“I’m gonna—go now.”

 

Bruce poked Clark with the cowboy-bot head.“I need to hook this up to my computer.”

 

“The world isn’t going to end in the ten minutes it takes you to help me put this place back in order.”

 

“What about–"

 

“Union City is not an excuse, unless you want me to bring up that other thing that happened there.”

 

“Ten minutes.”

 

“Done.”Clark dove for the warehouse; his next words came over Bruce’s comm.“If you promise never to mention Tuckahoe again, I’ll make it five.”

 

“No.”

 

“Bruce—"

 

“No.”Bruce tucked the cowboy-bot head under his arm and considered the fractured glass and sheet metal strewn across the dock.“If you can limit your collateral damage to a twenty-foot radius the next time you fight Toyman, I will consider your offer.”

 

“Okay, first of all, ‘I will consider your offer’ is your way of getting what you want without actually committing to anything—”

 

“Those are my terms.”

 

“—second, at least half that damage is Toyman’s.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

 

Clark darted overhead, carrying an old fishing net full of battered homicidal toys.Bruce threw a twisted chunk of scrap that had once been part of a wind-up teddybear more or less in the direction of his head.Clark slowed and caught it, grinning.

 

“Get ready to lose your blackmail, B.”

 

Bruce’s mouth quirked.

 

“I've heard that one before.”

**Author's Note:**

> what,,the hekc
> 
> if someone wants to stage an intervention against my late-night writing I'd be much obliged


End file.
